sorrows and conclusion

I was pondering which is best to kill a guy who broke my heart, to skin him and let the ants eat him or skin him, put lemons on him and let the ants eat him when I realized something. I am currently running some test if my theories would actually have some scientific truths in it.

You see, I realized that guys would probably stop snagging anything that wears skimpy skirts that could sway their hips if they were given the burden of being pregnant and giving birth. They would probably stay at home with their wives and helped her do some chores instead of calling after office hours for unexpected overtime only to be home drunk with lipsticks on their collars. There would probably no reason for the guys to be scared of commitment. I bet they would even beg for the girls to marry them when they get pregnant. Now they would not have a chance to deny of their offspring and the need to have a child undergo expensive DNA testing for child support would be eradicated unless they believe that the child was switched in the hospital. But then again, I only see those in the movies and telenovelas.

All I need is to find some stupid guys to test my theories on. Finding stupid guys is a breeze but running tests on them would probably caused me a million which I don’t have yet, plus the fact that the church might interfere.

- = o0o = -

Why is it that everytime I try writing about love, men or relationship my mind went blank and after I saw drools over my shirt that I realized my body went numbed and I was staring a blank sheets for hours. Is this one form of rebellion my heart is staging because of so many heartaches it went through? Then I wonder how come other writers have used their sorrows to write good novels. But I can’t seem to force my mind to function sometimes, I wonder if I’m getting stupid or my writing ability is slipping. But then I get good thoughts, things that has nothing to do with love, my mind gets impatience when my hands cannot follow my thoughts. Then I came to conclude that my mental block was only selective.

I like the word sorrow. When I run my thesaurus in Microsoft Word, it says that it synonymous with grief, morning, distress, unhappiness, regret and trouble and its antonym is joy. What a lonely word, don’t you think? And I wonder if sorrow comes with tears because if it does, then what I feel is beyond sorrow because no tears have visited my eyes in the past few months.

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Do you know that your eyes are more intelligent than your ears? I realized it when I saw in one show and I heard lights turn on in my head. The kid was watching the sea from a terrace when suddenly the waves overcame her. Guess her reaction? The kid after seeing the wave turned on her left shut her eyes hands grip on her eyes and let the waves overcome her. Get it? The eyes send the message to the brain that the eye needs protection at all cost, so he turned left while the hands protectively hid the eyes. And what happened? The unknowing ears received all the wrath of the angry waves. I don’t know if the eyes were more intelligent or our brain favor it over the ears. But I still find it stupid of the ears not to hear all the red alerts the brain is sending to all the body parts to answer to the stress call of the eyes.

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I’m having a running nose since my birthday. Before we took this vacation, I had colds for ages; my friends were telling me that I should have it checked. But without me knowing it, it stopped. Then when I went back to the office to check our store, I had it again.

Now, I’m definitely sure that my colds is caused by allergies. My friends were convinced that I may be allergic with the dust I get when I travel. But then, I realize that I may be allergic with the thought of going back to work. And if it’s true, it’s sad because in a couple of days, I will have to return to my work. Leaving me to choose between endless running nose or being endlessly penniless.

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Do you often feel different from other people? I do. One time I was chatting with this friend and I finally told her that I am jealous/envious of her. Before I get to the point of explaining why, she told me that she gets jealous too but she always remember that she is lucky too in some ways. I love my friend but sometimes, when you hear things like this, it makes you feel inadequate, invalidating what you feel.

You ask yourself, am I wrong to think this way? Or should I still voice out what I feel? Am I alone in this confusion? I am lucky though, because I am not afraid to be misunderstood I can always put into words my emotions. Unlike Rustom Padilla, it took him more than 30 years to finally say what he felt when he was 3 years old. I also noticed that he used précised words it’s like he has been practicing to say it aloud in such a long time. People would probably not understand why he said it in front of the cameras in the house, but I think he did it right. Where can he actually explain what he feels to everybody without being interrupted at all? He said it and everybody listened and he didn’t have to put up with the stupid reaction of some people. Those who would not understand couldn’t stop him from saying it, they could turn their television off but they cannot stop him. It must have been a relief for him to be able to say everything now.

And I couldn’t like Rustom more now that he’s out. When you finally get out of that house, I am one of those who saluted you.

- = o0o = -

FOUND

Somebody whispered and I was caught in the chiseled world of pretensions and make believe. So, is it pretensions or make believe, it didn’t matter. Nothing matter except the deafening crying of the need to be happy. Never mind that it was the wrong place to look for happiness. The dazzling colors and gibberish music has lulled me to its spider web, lured me and suffocated me with toxic smoke that almost tastes heaven.

Everything is tarnished with malice, jealousy and greediness I have to look away and pretend I understood the games that are being played. Everything is loud and the days pass like a carousel, try as I might pretend a little harder. No time to ask the when or the how or the why just fill the moment with intoxication of that sinful liquor that makes me forget about that happiness that I might never have.

The hand that held me does not ease my increasing doubts and fear but shadowed my reasoning. The stings of the truth that envelop this make believe world and the endless night in the dream of no sleep has numbed my consciousness. I could no longer hear the nagging calling of my conscience or the lifetime education in the chapels of faith but I am neither deaf nor mute to call for help. But the burning fires and ashes of sin has caught my eyes.

I didn’t realize I was lost and needed to be found. The brainwashing was good that forgetting to make believe has turned my hopes into darkened and sick nightmares blaming the universe of picking a speck like me into blues. Afterall, I am just a crumb of flickering light in the sea of green and what is expected of that tiny dot that looked almost like human but to fail. I am frail I should be taken cared of and not put into ridiculous tests that only proves my stubbornness and my propensity to give up.

And that moment before I sigh to sleep when the certainty of nothingness filled my heart with discontent, I knew of the true me that wanted to be found. To be taken away from the scum of the earth’s evilness and to be free from enslaving mistrust and pain but the hopes of that knight in shining armors has been banished from me when I first heard the whispering sins. And before the void of unconsciousness took me, a single tear escaped my gripping walls of self-preservation because the knowledge that nothing will change my predicaments has engulfed me. Nothing is one thing, but the hopelessness is something.

The irony of my every smile has spoken my sarcastic belief and the boredom of waiting for death has left me apathetic. I am like dirt, tumbling down the valley of life hoping to either reach death first or the bottom because death is escape and bottom is the interlude where sighs are in place and a semi-start hope of a change in scene or act. An interlude where mistakes are laughed at and learned on but the chance of anew brushes aside the past into a funny incident to tell your grand children. Of course, deaths is something a coward only wish but grant that the tired soul had enough of provocation and cannot feel grateful for small consolations and the injustice had caused nothing but lethargic stare.

And then, he came with soothing comfort of warmth and it felt like a welcoming lullaby in a very cold cell of determined posh. I cried a river and he held on longer until all the anger and loneliness left me and the unhappiness of being powerless to challenge my quandary. It was a fresh relief to not be impugn of my ignorant choices and hear confirmation of my fears and pains and not the usual words the slaughter my self-esteem. He listened to my woes and heard my livid dissatisfaction about everything in life as well as the heartbreaks of a girl who asked for love and happiness.

And when it was time to go, he held my hand with encouraging confidence and nurtured me with forgiveness of the past. The bygone programming of nothingness has been cured and lingering any longer would augment the fear of taking the first stride. I am still self-conscious of my steps and the questions in my head are making my judgments uncertain and doubt my controls in my faculty. But the sweet surrender was calming my spirit with endless assurance of greatness and the emptiness has drift away with my soul screaming of the blissful harmony with the one that has.

I am found. The slate has been cleaned again like a fresh sheet with a warm coffee in the morning dews and the hopes in my heart has pushed the lurking guilt at bay. The dawn is inspiring me to embrace that cross called my life with outstanding gratefulness of being found again. My heart is drumming my newly found battle cry, “I am found. I am found.”

Love

love is something, huh? people search for it but only a handful of those who brave the challege finds it. when i get a glimpse of it in some people's eyes, it makes me realize that time, circumstances and efforts may have been the variables in life but love is constant. its all the same in every people.

but to search for love is never for the lazy nor the faint heart and the greedy mind. the chances of finding love is discouraging even for those with good intentions. the inevitable disappointment lurkes in every corner and like in the movies, the twist is sometimes conventional and the ending is uncompromising. its a funny that after all the struggles and the uncertainty, we seem to have never been too scared or too beaten up to get back in and search again... and again.

is it because the taste of love in failed relationship is addictive? is it because of our stubbornness and pride to admit we failed? or since we have 50 to 60 years in our lifetime and we have nothing else to do?

because the truth is, love is what life is offering. not success because unlike success that can only be measured in the end of your life, love is what kept you as you take that last breath. its that light that kept you going even in the darkest of your life. its there when everything is well and its there in your deathbed. it makes you sing silly songs, makes you laugh like crazy and makes your cry harder. makes you kind and makes you jealous. to put it point blank, love makes you live life as it should be.

because love is. take it. and live life.